Book- Running on Faith by Jason Lester

A fantastically inspiring book! This guy does ultraman triathlons which combines a 6.2 mile swim, 261.4 mile bike and 52.4 mile run. And his right arm is paralyzed from a bike accident when he was 12. Crazy amazing. He gives all the glory to God. Lovely read.

Book- The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien

    War. We don't think about it. We don't understand it. The government decrees it and then we send people off to it and go merrily on skipping through our lives almost entirely unaffected by it. Some of the people we send off come back. Some don't. What did they do while they were gone? We don't know. That is the point of this book. Most of us have not seen or experienced war, but through the stories O'Brien has written here you can live a tiny portion of it with him. The briefest glimpse but oh so revealing. The point is not to be a quaint, sweet history accounting the exact, carefully ordered, completely understood facts where you close the book and go, "Awwww, wasn't that nice?" So don't look for that. Listen to the stories. Let yourself live them, too.

    I guess it is the nature of the book, but it's got me to thinking about the brevity of life. No human has the right to take away the life of another human. I have significant doubts about the right of a government to declare war. If there ever would be an appropriate time to declare war, than it had better be very well thought out. Everyone should know exactly what the reason is. After all, what is war really? It is a group of humans who happened to have been born in a particular place, speak a particular language, and hold a particular set of values, deciding that another group of humans who happened to have been born in a different place, speak a different language, and hold a different set of values, are unfit to live. That's what things come down to – death.

    Perhaps this is one reason I have been dwelling on this lately. We all realize that we are going to die at some point, yes, but that realization seems to wax and wane a bit throughout life. It waxes larger and larger when we hear of how suddenly death can be upon us. When will it be my turn?
    This question has been especially prevalent to me over the last couple months. I recently gave up a long fostered dream. It was making me miserable, true, but it was a dream none-the-less. With the release of the dream there was also a disappearance of the certainty of my future. I was going to be a success! I had an answer for every question you could throw at me. And now I don't. If this sounds petty, I'm sorry, it's just a really weird feeling. So now I reevaluate my life. My dream has suffered a long and drawn out dreadful death, but is now laid to rest, though I am still in mourning of it at times. The future is beautifully (and frighteningly!) blank. I had my plan to be sure my life was not some meaningless waste, but that plan has been rendered useless.
    I think that a better option is to live day by day. This poses a danger and a freedom. The danger is that of frittering your life away, waking up in forty years, or what have you, and going, "Drat. I just lived a meaningless waste of a life." That is one of my biggest fears. The freedom is harder to explain. I think the difference is you can live day by day according to your own wishes (which leads to that very bad realization later on down the road) or live day by day according to that which God would have you do. This poses the problem of knowing what God would have you to do. The answer is to listen and obey the leading of His Spirit. This then brings up the question of would I actually live each day trying to do what the Spirit led me to do or would it just be a convenient excuse to do what I felt like. Good question. No known answer at this time. Would I like to? Of course. But would I do it? No idea. I hate routine, hate monotony, hate trying to follow daily planners. I think this change will be very good for me and the idea of each day from here on out being unknown and different is thrilling. That's about as close as I can get to telling you what I mean by freedom. There is a freedom of my spirit to quest on in the great adventure, the great exploration. It wouldn't be boring, but rides the fine line of meaninglessness. If this is done well, my life would have great meaning, maybe not the variety that shoots off fireworks so that all within several miles can see and hear about it, but meaning. The kind where you invest in the life of each person you meet, treasure each moment you are given, and fill those who are paralyzed by loneliness all around you. That's what I want to do. I, however, happen to be human, and that is where the other side of the line comes into play. I procrastinate, I am lazy, and I can be rather self-serving. If I end up copping out, that's where I'll end up kicking myself later on. I want to live a life of meaning and purpose but am finding a bit of a challenge since the "guarantee" of it that I pursued so long has come unraveled. Scary and exciting. We'll see.

Book- A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O'Connor

This will be brief.
Sad. Story.

Interesting look into the personalities of the characters, though.

Dream– Escape

I waved goodbye as my mom sped over the hill and out of sight. I thought I saw something along the length of fence and walked over to check it out, but it was just a snowdrift. Moving the branches of a cedar pine tree aside, I hung the outdoor portion of an indoor/outdoor thermometer on a nail on the solid wood privacy fence– the kind made from two inch gray boards laid right next to each other that come about five feet high. Then I opened the gate, still unlatched from me coming out, slid under the simple semicircular arbor, and slid the latch securely into place.

“The bad thing about nice little gates,” came a gruff voice from behind me, “is that they can let in those you are trying to keep out.” I whirled around. Standing along the length of fence was a short, slightly overweight man with a black fleece hat and a hard glint in his eye. I didn’t bother to ask why he had slid through the gate while I had been outside. I didn’t need to. I just had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach that I needed to run because the cat was about to spring. So after that stunned instant where I was frozen to my place, I started sprinting towards the house. He, however was ready for this and was surprisingly able to sprint faster than I in foot and a half deep snow. I tripped and he grabbed me from behind, his arms locking down over my arms and his right leg twisted around my leg keeping me slightly off balance and dependent on him to keep standing. I tried to scream but could barely find my voice. His cheek was rough with dark stubble as he pressed it into mine. “Don’t try nothing stupid or you’ll be sorry,” he whispered in my ear. There was alcohol on his breath. 

I pretended to relax and it worked. He slightly loosened his hold and I was able to shift just enough weight onto my right leg so as to surreptitiously move my left leg out and then swing my heel hard into his leg which was still supporting us both. The leg gave out and his arms loosed for a second. I crashed my elbow as hard as I could into his stomach. But then he regained his hold on me and I realized that he had barely been tapping into his strength before as he crushed me into his chest. Now I found my voice. “DAD!!!” I shouted. I could see his turned back in the kitchen through the window making pancakes. “DAD! DAD! DAD! DAD! DAAAAAAD!!!!!” He turned, holding the frying pan, smiling. His wave froze in midair though when he saw me and his smile turned into a stunned, “Oh.” He took off across the house towards the garage. I switched from screaming to kicking, repeatedly slamming my heals into his shin.

“Now ya’ve done it!” said the man holding me on his right leg with his chin digging into my shoulder. He tried to throw me to the ground I wrapped my legs around his as tightly as I could. I knew the front door would be locked but if I could just make it to the draped roofline I could jump on it and scramble over the peak and slide into my window. We both heard the garage door opening and he stopped for an instant and then he succeeded in throwing me on the ground. I rolled away from his kicks and started to rise. A partially deflected punch slammed into my cheek but I was able to stay standing as he tried to drag me towards the gate. Now my dad’s white Jetta was even with us. The man turned his attention to it and I took off for the house, scrambling up the eaves. Just before sliding over the peak I looked back. The man was slamming his body into the front of the car denting it further and further in. I had to call the police. Why didn’t he just run away? I slid apart a hidden panel in the roof and dropped onto the window seat in my room, standing on it just long enough to secure the panels back down and then lungeing across the bed for my phone. As I dialed the emergency number I heard latches turning and spun around in horror at my window. Had he followed me?

And then I woke up. My roommate was opening a bag of pretzels.

Book– In a Cabin, In the Woods by Jacob P. Silvia

I stumbled across the link to this book and finished it in a day and a half.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XKtPkzfYcTMtO-DXosekhMdHf7KJZ4f812nmY_cq0mI/edit?hl=en#

At first I read just because I was curious. I started out not really liking the author's style and not liking the plot because I was finding it hard to follow, but by the time I decided I wanted to stop reading it I found I couldn't and by the end I thought the author brilliant! I was hooked into finishing (and as quickly as possible, too!) so as not to be left hanging! By the end I loved the story and am now actually going back and rereading it because I realized that the story is all in different layers and there were things I had missed before that I am getting by going back and rereading it. Boats become cars, mice defend the intelligent design scientific view point, the incarnation of Christ is told with an alien twist, and a human takes on the appearance of a brass key. The majority of the book is quite fatalistic which puts an interesting twist on the character's attitudes. It was a good read.

Books.

Alright. I have begun a quest. A mission to read as many good books as possible. No, not just good in the happy sense, good in the well-writen sense. And what better time to do it then now? Take some time off for the holidays and immerse myself into the world of writing. My passport to that glorious land currently reads "Observer." We shall see if, when, or how that will change! So that's just a quick heads up. I'm going to try to write a bit about each one that I read, but we'll see how that goes... ;)

A Fork in the Road

Today I decided I want to be a writer. No, really. I've heard about it, I've lived in books, and I've tasted the tiniest touch of trying it myself only to find myself craving it completely. I want to tell stories, weave plots together, meet and walk with characters through all the crazy twists and turns. I want to escape into that world. I want to write.

And I'm scared. Of what?! Failing. Lack of stability? NO! Who are you kidding? That's part of the allure! Prideful? Maybe. Care that much about what others think? No, not really. I'm scared of letting down some lofty ideal that I don't even fully know I'm holding. Do you ever think about what the "little you" would have thought? Bounce ideas off of that bit of memory of what you thought when you were about 6? For me it goes something like Little Joy would want to climb that mountain. Little Joy would really admire such and such accomplishment or behavior. Little Joy would think that that would be really cool but that she could never really do that so I'm going to do it! Ridiculous, eh? I'm not sure. Little Joy always dreamed of being a writer but was too afraid to try. Now is the chance!

I also discovered today that I like drinking green tea with milk and honey. I'm only on.... oh... about my sixth glass so far today. :) I could never stand tea before which quite maddening. I wanted to like it. But it didn't work until today. I guess it's my overly romantic side. When one reads or writes one should always have a mug of coffee or tea nearby! (And since I utterly detest the taste of coffee, that left tea as my only option!) Solid roof overhead, steaming mug of tea, fully charged laptop, Irish Christmas music playing, and about nine lifetimes worth of dreams... what more could one ask for? Confidence? Alright, alright! I'm working on it! Can't have everything at once, right? ;)